Rise of the Death Knights
by Sethyl
Summary: This is the story of Archeron Shadowsun, champion of the Lich King. She will spearhead the assault on the Scarlet Enclave in the name of her dark master, mercy and pity forgotten in the bloodlust. This is the rise of the Death Knights.


**A/N: **_This is the back story of Archeron Shadowsun for my other story Legacy of the Crusader._

"You summoned me, my liege."

Archeron knelt before her lord and master, Arthas Menethil. Her eyes were fixed on the floor as her master had yet to acknowledge her presence as he surveyed the would-be battlefield below him.

"Rise, my champion and bask in the sight of these pathetic Scarlet whelps," Arthas commanded, his hollow voice resonating through the halls of Acherus, trembling the very being of every living thing within the mighty citadel's death ridden walls.

Archeron did as she was instructed and strode cautiously forward, stopping at the Lich King's right hand and staring down at the construction of Death's Breach. She let her hand rest on the hilt of her coveted runeblade, Doomweaver – a gracious gift from her master himself.

"I have a task for you," he stated simply, though the sentence made every fiber of Archeron's being leap at the chance to please her lord, despite having proved herself to him many times over. She merely pulled back her darkened hood as a show of her acknowledgement, allowing the raging sun to burn its way into the death knight's eyes. "Watch over the initiates. Be sure they are ready to do battle."

"And if they are not?" Archeron inquired as she registered her orders.

Arthas did not bother to lift his cold, yet scorching gaze off of the lands under the great necropolis as he answered her question. "Send them back to the grave. It is a simple, yet important task-one that I entrust to you, my champion."

Archeron bowed with the utmost respect as she prepared to be off on her new assignment. "Thy will be done." She turned briskly and descended the stares into the Heart of Acherus with her chin held high and her dark craving for his approval somewhat satisfied. Archeron past the newly turned death knights, her eyes narrowing in contempt. "_These are the best we can muster?_" she thought to herself.

"Archeron," a rasping voice called. Instructor Razuvious was speaking to another initiate when he spotted the Lich King's favorite minion. When he called out to her, even he was surprised that his deep and bellowing voice had seemed to give was under the hours upon hours of yelling he did.

"Instructor," Archeron responded, giving a slight, but respectful nod to Razuvious. She allowed him to finish speaking to the young troll standing before him, looking up at her teacher with curiosity in her necromancy animated eyes. He finished by sending her off to find a suitable blade to become her trusted weapon.

Archeron watched the young troll intently as she let the unholy energies of the runforge flow through her and intern, her new blade. The energies themselves seemed to slowly etch the necessary runes into the sword and the troll simply channeled them.

The young death knight slowly stalked back to Razuvious, who had also been watching, and presented him with her runeblade. Razuvious congratulated her in a flat tone, knowing that she had merely completed the easiest part of her training.

Archeron strode around the stairs leading into the small pit that chained the unworthy scum that dared to think themselves deserving of being in service to her dark master. She did not bother listening to what the Instructor told his new pupil, for she already knew that the next stage of her training would be to meet one of the fools in battle to prove her skills with the blade and to show her lack of remorse and pity.

She watched as the death knight descended the steps and walked cautiously to one of the failed initiates, slowly unlocking the chains that bound one of the humans to the wall -old hatreds die hard- and went to the center of the make-shift arena. The human staggered to her feet, but soon found her balance as she became accustomed to walking again.

"I was a soldier of the Light once…Look at what I have become…" the knight stated bitterly. However, she did not look as if she was willing to simply lie down and have a sword cut her throat. No, she was prepared to fight. The human, Margaret if Archeron remembered correctly, gathered the armor and sword behind her, swiftly readying herself for battle. Margaret turned on the young initiate, whose name was still a mystery, and leapt at her. "Sate your hunger on cold steel, troll!" she yelled as she brought her own runeblade down on the other's head.

The initiate parried the blow with practiced precision, but only just. The two struggled in that position for some time until the troll managed to move to the human's right, taking her blade with her and letting Margaret's crash to the floor.

Razuvious watched from beside Archeron as his trainee began to gain the upper hand in the battle. They both looked on with mild amusement as the young knight managed to run her opponent through, covering herself a thin layer of darkened blood.

"As expected, my chosen knight has triumphed! You are ready, Zan'ari," Razuvious said, a bit of pride ringing through his voice.

"_So that's her name…"_ Archeron thought. _"This one might be worth something to us."_

Zan'ari bowed deeply, a show of her respect and gratitude for his praise. "I tank you for de training ya gave meh." Razuvious nodded and turned his back to her, getting on with his other business and forgetting her completely despite the effort he had poured into her training.

Archeron began to stride away, leaving the troll alone in the dueling ring. Her cold eyes scanning the over the other initiates, calculating their probable worth. She paid little attention to the bows and submissive –if not fearful- greetings thrown at her by the guards as she approached her master once again.

The Death Knight knelt before the Lich King, standing when he gave her a small wave of his hand.

"What does the Master wish of me?" Archeron inquired. The Lich King still looked down on Scarlet Enclave from his place in the Hold, studying it and imagining the terrible beauty of the soon to be red stained canvas of the land.

"The time to spill the blood of our enemies approaches. I grant you sight beyond sight, my champion." Archeron knew what this meant –The Eye of Acherus was to be utilized at once. She bowed once more and walked towards the Eye.

The Eye of Acherus was not a sentient being, but seemingly alive none the less. Its cat-like pupil followed Archeron as she approached it with caution. It could look into you. It could look into the very depths of your being. The Eye can make you remember and regret. These were the warnings that Arthas had given her while the two watched as the necromancers shaped and twisted them.

Archeron remembered these as she placed her hand on the blue orb's cold, yet searing surface. She could feel the dark energies amassing around the Great Eye above them, creating an image of itself to bind to her very being.

There was pain. A slight feeling in her head as the powerful magics began to worm their way into her mind and settled there. Archeron's vision blurred, and then faded away as the magic began to bind her sight to the Eye, allowing her to see through and control it.

The edges of her vision through the orb were darkened, as if forcing her to focus forward at her task. It took no trouble to control the orb and make it move –it was, after all now a part of her and she instinctively knew what to do. Archeron maneuvered the Eye towards the closest target, The Scarlet Hold, as if it was marked in her mind.

The Crusaders did not so much as twitch as the Eye began to absorb the information inside of their minds hungrily, as if it was a delicious meal. She made her way to the forge, doing the same as she did with the Hold –peeking at the information stored away within their 'righteous' minds.

There was little more than anger and confusion at the Town Hall and very little of actual use, so Archeron moved the Eye its final target –the Chapel of the Crimson Flame. She moved the Eye cautiously, knowing that the priests of the Chapel might be able to detect the subtle magics that animated the image.

It was holy soil. The Chapel of the Crimson Flame had been built upon sacred ground – a small hope that the Knights of the Lich King would not be able raze it along with the rest of their pathetic city. How wrong they would soon find out they were.

**A/N: **_This will be about three or four chapters long; it will run through Light's Hope and end at becoming part of the Horde. If you haven't read my other story, go do that! _


End file.
